


The Sleep of the Cicada

by lysanatt



Category: Fuyu no Semi (Winter Cicada), Haru o Daiteita, Haru wo Daiteita (Embracing Love), Nitta Youka
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-04
Updated: 2010-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-05 18:40:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lysanatt/pseuds/lysanatt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I believe that such a time will come... A time where we can always be together without fear of being caught... Until that time comes, you and I shall sleep the long sleep of the cicada."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sleep of the Cicada

**Author's Note:**

> Nitta-sensei hints in several (canon) places that Iwaki and Katou are indeed Akizuki and Kusaka reincarnated, hence the way they react when they try to get the roles of those two characters. I've played with the idea, but decided to stay in the Fuyu no Semi universe. This fic is partly inspired by Jonathan Steffen's poem "The Falcon to the Falconer" (1992) which is about love that binds, when one cannot let go for the sake of the beloved. Incidentally, falconry and the falcon were also symbols of the Samurai, and of the Edo period that ended with the Boshin war -- the war which is described in Fuyu no Semi and ends with Akizuki-san's defeat at Hakodate.

**The Sleep of the Cicada**

**I. Remains of Hakodate (Ruins)**

Sleep.

That is what he wants. To fall asleep, dreamlessly. To finally leave the humiliation that burns him up inside.

A few snowflakes fall slowly before the bone-fingered wind takes them and hurl them into the air, letting them fly against the sky's snow-dimmed light.

The only warmth he can feel is the one tear he cannot hold back. He is hurt and broken; the wounds he got in the battle have never healed even though his skin is white and almost scarless. His heart beats raw and bloody inside him; every beat tearing him open, leaving this silent, invisible bloodletting continue. It is nothing but pain to think of the man he loves more than life, more than anything. This omnivorous love for Kusaka has already burned far too long and, by far, too shortly. He is nothing but a caged bird, hooded and kept and longing for the sky.

Sleep.

That is what he wants. To fall asleep in this icy, dead world and to wake up in another; one where love does not equal pain and shame. That is all he has left. Hope.

He closes his hand around the small amulet he wears around his neck. Inside is the empty chrysalis of a cicada. It is nothing but dust now; little grains of life and rebirth. He smiles at the memory of the day he found it: the day Kusaka confessed his love. The day when their life was made of sun and kisses. For a moment, Akizuki can smell the river and the scent of warm grass. Of sun-teased skin, and of Kusaka's lips: tasting of tea and summer. They shared a wish that warm summer day: to sleep, like the cicadas, through winter, and to meet again, in another time, another life.

He reaches for the blade. It slips in so easily, as if his body welcomes it. The pain is unbearable, but only for a heartbeat.

Somewhere, far away, a bell chimes; the note trembles, echoes sharply and dies, the sound torn apart by the winter's ruthless wind.

Summer suddenly seems so close.

  
**II. The Cicadas in Ikedayama Park (Rebirth)**

'They sound so sad, don't you think?' A slender man sinks down in the grass, half way in the shadows. The setting sun makes his honey-brown hair reflect the golden colours of the sun, making him look oddly foreign.

Akizuki looks up, hesitating with the small paper lantern in one hand. The cicadas' eternal _u ke ke ke ke_ is the sound of nightfall and mourning, but also the sound of summer and of warmth. Akizuki _hates_ winter. Maybe the hiragushara cicadas _do_ sound sad, but winter is even sadder. He has never thought about that, the sound of the cicadas. He just thinks it is such a familiar sound. It goes well with his need for solitude. A need the stranger obviously is rude enough to ignore. Akizuki doesn't reply.

'Isn't it a bit early?' The unknown man nods towards the paper lantern. It is not yet lit; Akizuki will have to do so soon, sending it down the small spring that has to do instead of the river that should return the souls of his forefathers to the world of the dead. 'The bonfires begin at nightfall.'

'I don't have time to wait.' Akizuki does have time, actually. He just doesn't like to be approached by strangers who impolitely interrogate him about his opinion on cicadas and _O-bon_ and the _Floating of Lanterns_. He puts the lantern down and brushes off his hands, removing a few strands of grass. He reaches for the book and the blanket he has brought with him in the - now ruined - hope that he could sit quietly in the shadows of the park's ginkgo trees, reading and meditating peacefully. Clearly not.

'Oh... English?'

The golden-haired stranger doesn't go away. On the contrary. Akizuki tries to hide the book under the blanket, but the stranger has already seen enough.

'Yes, English. Why?' Akizuki asks before he is able to stop the words from escaping his lips. _Idiot_, he berates himself. Now he'll probably have to deal even longer with this unwanted companion who doesn't seem to have a grain of decency in his body at all.

'I studied abroad. London. Five years,' the stranger volunteers. 'Economics.'

Akizuki has a sense of déja vù. This situation feels strangely familiar, the way the hitherto unknown man insists forcing himself onto him. Akizuki lets out an impolitely annoyed sigh, as if to express his discontent. Around him, cars and voices and birds fade away. Somehow it feels as if the entire world has disappeared, as if there is only the two of them in this oddly narrow universe. The park is filled with people and the sounds of the Obon festival, Akizuki knows that, but they feel insignificant. Trivial. Left is only this restless discontent.

'My apologies,' the stranger says, almost sad, as if he senses Akizuki's feelings. 'I haven't introduced myself properly,' he states surprisingly.

_As if it would make things better_, Akizuki thinks and stands, book and blanket in one hand, the small paper lantern in the other. He just wants to be left alone.

'My name is Kusaka. Kusaka Touma.' Kusaka stands too, stepping out in the warm sunlight. It looks as if his whole body is surrounded by a halo. He bows slightly.

'Akizuki Keiichirou.' Akizuki nods, almost arrogantly. Around them, the cicadas still play their _u ke ke ke_. The small spring sings a merry, clear tune to go with it. Everything is quiet and not quiet in this intensely secluded atmosphere the man called Kusaka Touma has created. His presence feels as if it is making Akizuki's skin itch and burn.

This has to end. Akizuki has been adequately accommodating. Now he just wants to get away. He fumbles and tries to move blanket and book and lantern at the same time from one hand to the other. He drops the book, and it lands on the ground, open, sprawling like a bird shot down.

They both kneel at the same time, and two hands: one pale and soft, another golden and calloused, both reach for the book.

'_The Falcon to the Falconer_?' Kusaka takes the book. '_Unleash me from your hand, and I will lance the light for you. I'll cut a swordblade on the wind and pennant it with flight for you_,' he reads, then pauses and looks up. His eyes are warm and deep and there is no way Akizuki can look away. Sweet and soft like honey. Delicious. Dangerous.

Then Kusaka smiles knowingly, without looking in the book reciting the last lines of the verse. '_To signal I am yours_,' he whispers, and the sweetness of his gaze is reflected in his voice. '_If you will free me to be true to you._' He makes it sound like a question.

Akizuki has forgotten how to breathe. He, too, knows the poem by heart. He likes the poem. _All darkness on your hand, I'm hooded, pinned and held by you. O, give me back my wings, that they may bring me back to you_, the last verse goes, and this is how Akizuki often feels. As if he needs to be set free.

Caught in the magic of the moment, Akizuki has lost his irritation and his anger. The book and the park and Shinagawa and probably even Japan and everything else in the world matters not. There is just the sound of his own heartbeat and the cicadas and Kusaka's intense gaze. It slides into him so easily and cut open old wounds, but it does not feel painful. 'Have we met before?' Akizuki asks, almost insecurely. He breathes out, trying to collect himself. Somehow he sees the promise of wings in Kusaka-san's eyes.

Kusaka's smile makes the world move again. 'Why don't we send the spirits of our ancestors to rest now?' he asks and points to the lantern. 'I have the evening off. Maybe you would care to have dinner with me so we can try to find out, Akizuki-san?' Kusaka stands and holds out his hand to Akizuki, the other still occupied by the poetry book. 'What do you say?'

'Yes,' Akizuki replies, surprising even himself by taking Kusaka's hand, letting himself fall into this honeyed, golden trap.

Somewhere, far away, a bell chimes; the note trembles, echoes brightly and hovers like a falcon on the mild summer wind, before it softly fades.

Winter suddenly seems so far away.


End file.
